


How I Love You

by LuckyBossuet



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Bahorel is a Teddy Bear, Comfort, Fluff, Hair Braiding, Non-Binary Jean Prouvaire, Other, Pet Names, Poetry, bahorel is soft for jehan, bahorel just really loves jehan okay, soft bahorel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-07
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:27:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26854444
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyBossuet/pseuds/LuckyBossuet
Summary: Sometimes Jehan needs distracting from their writing, Bahorel is always happy to oblige.
Relationships: Bahorel/Jean Prouvaire
Comments: 2
Kudos: 7





	How I Love You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [les Amis DCD (AlmostARealHobbit)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmostARealHobbit/gifts).



> This fic is a birthday present for the wonderful [Les Amis DCD](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AlmostARealHobbit/pseuds/les%20Amis%20DCD), who is also the person that got me into this ship
> 
> HAPPY BIRTHDAY
> 
> not beta'd, all mistakes are my own

Jehan has been sat at their desk for hours, notebooks open, pens scattered everywhere. They have scattered verses in their head, but they can’t figure out how to connect them, how to slot them together and make them flow.

They’re so absorbed that they barely hear Bahorel enter their flat, only really registering their boyfriend’s presence when he places a hand on Jehan’s shoulder and says “-an, you alright?”

Jehan turns to look at Bahorel, his eyes concerned.

“Rel? I thought you were going shopping?” Jehan rubbed his eye, confused.

“I did, dear, I just got back. Have you been at this desk all morning?”

Jehan looks at the clock, blinking in surprise when they see that it no longer reads half ten in the morning, and has gotten to quarter to one in the afternoon.

“How, I- I didn’t realise how long I’d been here. This, these _words!_ They won’t click!”

Jehan can feel themself getting frustrated, which they hate, they know it makes them look ridiculous. Bahorel, however, pulls out their chair easily and tugs them up towards the living room. He sits Jehan on the sofa, says to “wait here a moment,” before going into their bedroom and emerging with Jehan’s hairbrush.

Jehan is oddly particular about their hairbrush. Their hair itself doesn’t take much maintenance, but they simply refuse to brush their hair with anything other than their bright yellow brush, painted by Grantaire in high school. The brush is covered with flowers and trees and along the handle there is a quote: “We are made of star stuff".

Jehan doesn’t know where Grantaire heard it, but they know that it speaks to them.

Jehan turns to look at Bahorel where he sits behind them, but he tells them to turn around, pressing a kiss to their cheek, gentle. Bahorel may look like he’d be first into a fight, like he wouldn’t think twice about punching you half the time, (the first is often true, the second only if it’s deserved), but with the people he cares about he can be gentle as they come.

This is especially true with Jehan, not because he thinks Jehan can’t handle themself, far from it, he’s seen Jehan in action when the occasion arose. No, Bahorel simply knows that it hurts him when Jehan hurts, and the world likes to hurt Jehan and people like them, so Bahorel tries to give them a space where nothing hurts, where the kindness Jehan shows others is welcome, is appreciated, isn’t taken advantage of.

Jehan appreciates it more than they can say.

So Jehan turns and, when Bahorel waits long enough for it to seem like hesitation, nods their head.

They feel fingers in their hair, gently finger combing out the loose plait, entwined braids that Jehan meant to take out the previous night and was too distracted this morning. It takes all their effort to not lean back.

Bahorel has done this before, the tender caretaking; it helps Jehan relax when thoughts won’t leave their mind.

After their hair is all loose, Bahorel presses kiss to Jehan’s shoulder before separating their hair into sections. Picking one at a time, he brushes them until the brush flows through without resistance, as if through air.

“I love your hair, you know,” he says, “It’s beautiful, just like you are. It’s soft, too. But unlike your hair, you don’t just do what you’re told, do you?” Bahorel finishes brushing and starts to braid the pieces together. The strands are thinner than his and don’t hold their shape as well, but he has plenty of practice weaving the blue and pink between Jehan’s natural ginger. “You know who you are and what you think, and it’s amazing to see you defend it and yourself. It does things to me, you know? I fell in love with such an… _intrepid_ person; and I’m so lucky to have them love me too.”

Bahorel finishes the braid and taps Jehan’s shoulder to get them to turn around. Jehan does so, placing the braid over their shoulder, revealing the tattoos on their back, running down their torso and across their pale skin, making a canvas of their body. They smile softly at their boyfriend.

“And here I thought I was meant to be the poet, dearest.”

Bahorel laughs loudly. “Only for you, love. Don’t tell the others I have a reputation.”

Jehan presses a kiss to Bahorel’s nose, “Don’t worry, I like to keep this side of you to myself. I can be possessive when I want to be.”

The next morning, Bahorel wakes up to the sounds of Jehan in the kitchen and a note on the table next to his side of the bed.

“When sun’s rays have lit their last

And Earth grows cold and still

Grass will die, trees shall go

And I will love you still”


End file.
